Playing Lady Gaga, Being Nan Pau. Steve Tolbert

like he was an extra-terrestrial. ‘Your name Nicko, is it?’

      ‘My name Phra Maha Sathienphongse. I thank you for me practise English.’

      ‘Ah, right.’ Jake leered at him, eyes squinting. ‘Well Phra, can I ask you a question, one that at this time of day is very important for us to find the answer to?’

      ‘Yes please.’

      ‘Me mate and I are looking for a place that serves up cold beer. Is there such a place in Mae Sot ya could recommend? It doesn’t have to be 5-star.’

      ‘The Snake Skin.’ Phra pointed in the general direction they’d come from. ‘Not far – three street just.’

      ‘Beauty! That’s where me mate and I will be later on if ya’re up for a drink and more practise – my shout.’ He turned and shouted, ‘Eh Nicko, drop your landin’ gear a sec.’ It was like Jake had signed up with him and wasn’t about to let him out of his sight. He caught up and wiped his face. ‘Sweatin’ bullets I am. Big ones.’ He looked back over his shoulder at the monk, made claws of his hands and spoke in a deep robotic voice, ‘Totally weird boneheads with questionable fashion sense are wandering around out here unchaperoned. The vibes, my man, like not good.’

      ‘Yeah, well, just another kilometre or two to go.’ Nick turned and continued on, eyeing the old, two-storey wooden building on his left and spotting what he was looking for: a sign saying Ban Thai Guesthouse over the front entry. He looked away and kept going though, feeling a little smug leading a twenty-three-year-old around the back blocks of Mae Sot. After a hundred metres or so he stopped, dropped his backpack and made a point of adjusting the straps.

      Jake drew level again, using a hand as a visor. ‘Warm, wouldn’t ya say?’

      ‘You got any sunnies?’

      ‘Nah. Hadn’t planned on spending much time outdoors.’ He straightened up and scanned the surroundings as a lookout would. ‘Different postcode out here, don’t ya reckon?’

      ‘Yeah maybe. I just want to see what’s up ahead.’

      ‘Probably China.’

      Nick thought he could hear voices coming from the back of the guesthouse. German male, he thought, followed by American female, without a doubt. Then an Aussie female, or maybe Kiwi, he couldn’t be sure. ‘Anyway, best to keep going before darkness sets in. You coming?’

      ‘Ya need to know, Nicko, tropical sun has never been kind to my skin. Another five minutes out ’ere and I could grow inta one great blister.’

      ‘Right.’

      ‘And not only that, but in sun-fried places like this one, it’s important to conserve energy, prioritise yer needs. Know what me priorities are?’

      ‘I reckon I do, but go on and tell me.’

      ‘Grog, air-con and chasin’ women, at least those easily caught, and the prospect of satisfying any one of those is not lookin’ all that bright at the moment.’ He turned and fixed his eyes faraway. Seconds later he muttered mysteriously, ‘Young nephew thought the sun shone outta my proverbial. The Amazing Spider-Man I was. Could do no wrong.’

      What he was talking about, Nick hadn’t the foggiest.

      ‘Top little bloke.’ Jake went on, ‘And in our later years, if we’re lucky enough not to have run off any mountain roads or crashed inta any trees, there’re a couple of other needs we’ll have ta consider as well, like a good telly and an armchair ta fall asleep in at night.’ It was like a different person had put on his skin. He eyed the ground and continued on, weirding Nick out. ‘Yeah … not everyone lives long enough to like … get to that armchair stage though, do they?’ He stayed gripped in some other place for five seconds, ten, before his eyes found Nick again. He grinned and stated the obvious, ‘Away in limbo-land there for a moment.’

      ‘Yeah.’ Nick watched him closely.

      ‘Anyway, returning to the topic at hand … Which was?’

      ‘Prioritising needs.’ Like getting your head checked.

      ‘Course it was; just testin’.’ His voice ramped up again. ‘Know what happens when blokes ignore their basic needs?’

      ‘Can’t imagine.’

      ‘Cretinisation syndrome sets in. Heard of it?’

      ‘Not really.’

      ‘A rapid thickenin’ of the skull. Left untreated it’ll constrict the brain like a grape in a winepress. For real, dude, for real. Like Google it up if ya don’t believe me. And I’m gettin’ cretinised big time out ’ere. Know what I’m thinkin’?

      ‘Shelter and drink.’

      ‘Spot on, Sherlock. Place called the Snake Skin. Monk-recommended.’ He pointed. ‘Three blocks that way. On my radar now like a cane field for a cane toad. Croak, croak. Meet you there, alright?’

      ‘Done.’

      Jake headed off all springy and urgent now, his ‘limbo-land’ detour left behind as a curiosity. Moments later a motor scooter passed, trailing exhaust. As it closed in on Jake, he turned and signalled it to stop. It did and he said something to the driver then hopped on the back and the scooter took off, Jake waving back blindly.

      Seconds later, with Mae Sot gone quiet, Nick walked back to the Ban Thai. He passed through its lobby into a small courtyard dotted with tropical plants and small trees. Western men and women in cargo pants, t-shirts and sandals sat in the sweaty shade, drinks in hand.

      A local hopped up and approached him, asking if he was looking for a room.

      ‘A single room, yes. I’m also looking for my brother, John Stanish. I know that …’ The local lost his smile. The courtyard went quiet. ‘I know that he was staying here up to about a month ago.’